


Golden Rings

by rhysiana



Series: Silver & Gold [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Rock Star Chris Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: The main disadvantage of Laura being such a competent assistant, Peter had found, was not being able to get out of unpleasant tasks if she had already deemed them necessary. He sneered down at the RSVP slip as he let the glass office door swing shut behind him.He’d barely had time to toss his briefcase into the corner chair before his intercom buzzed. “Seriously, though,” Laura said, “do you want me to start calling around? I know it’s been a while since you had to take anyone else as a date, but for an invite to the Itos’ party, you’ll probably be forgiven.”He thought about spending another evening making polite small talk with someone Talia would approve of on a surface level, and then he thought about the hours he’d spent the day before lying in Chris’s bed talking about anything, everything, and how he’d never once been bored. How he hadn’t wanted to leave. How he could have spent so many more hours there, days, weeks probably, and not run out of things to talk about.He pressed the intercom button on his end. “No, I’ve got it.”***Sequel to Silver Bullets, picking up just after the main events of the first fic. Is Peter ready for all that Chris's rock star life entails?





	Golden Rings

**Author's Note:**

> The Peter POV sequel to Silver Bullets, picking up just after the main events of the first fic, filling in what happened before the first fic's epilogue. The title is a bit of a clue.
> 
> (Eternal thanks to DizzyRedhead for the last-minute beta as I rushed to get this posted before Chris Argent Appreciation Week officially ended!)

When Peter stopped briefly at Laura’s desk to pick up his messages, as he did every morning, she pinned him with a suspicious glare and kept a firm grip on the message slips.

“What?” he asked. He’d been in such a good mood.

“You’re smiling. It’s disturbing. What is wrong with you?”

“I was not smiling.” He glared back at her to prove the point. “Now give me my messages. You’re my assistant, after all. Assist.”

“Fine.” She turned back to her computer. “You’ll notice the top one is a reminder to RSVP for the Itos’ company party.”

He stopped in his tracks again, starting to wonder if he’d ever actually make it all the way through his office door. “And?”

She swiveled in her chair triumphantly and gave him a patently false sweet smile. “And you have to tell me how you actually want to respond.”

“You know as well as I do that my attendance is required.”

“Oh, definitely. Mom made that very clear. But she wants to know your plus-one status.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m taking you, as usual.”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Mom forbade it. Said you had to find an actual date.”

He forced himself to stop grinding his teeth. He thought he’d finally managed to stop Talia’s constant matchmaking. “I will buy you a new evening gown.”

“You would have done that anyway. And Mom’s already doing it, because I’m escorting her new head of accounting.”

He turned grimly back toward his office. “You are a horrible and ungrateful child. See if I defend you the next time Talia gets on your case about finally taking the bar exam.”

“Please. You know full well if I ever take the bar, it’ll be a sign I have no faith in your competence anymore. And you’ll have to train a new assistant. Being the power behind the throne is much more fun.”

She was right, of course. It was why the two of them had banded together in the first place; Talia was all about courtroom grandstanding and the public eye, but Peter and Laura understood the subtler and more vicious thrill of writing an airtight contractual agreement that pinned their opponent exactly where they wanted them with no wiggle room whatsoever. The ones who took Laura for a simple secretary got infinitely more screwed.

The main disadvantage of having Laura so competently run his life, though, was not being able to get out of unpleasant tasks if she had already deemed them necessary. He sneered down at the RSVP slip as he let the glass office door swing shut behind him.

He’d barely had time to toss his briefcase into the corner chair that really only existed to hold desk overflow before his intercom buzzed. “Seriously, though,” Laura said, “do you want me to start calling around? I know it’s been a while since you had to take anyone else as a date, but for an invite to the Itos’, you’ll probably be forgiven.”

He thought about spending another evening making polite small talk with someone Talia would approve of on a surface level, and then he thought about the hours he’d spent the day before lying in Chris’s bed talking about anything, everything, and how he’d never once been bored. How he hadn’t wanted to leave. How he could have spent so many more hours there, days, weeks probably, and not run out of things to talk about.

He pressed the intercom button on his end. “No, I’ve got it.”

There was a pause and then, “Really?”

“Yes, really, you impertinent child. Go do something important.”

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Chris before he could second-guess himself, using the number that had only been programmed in a day ago.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Chris answered.

Peter rolled his eyes. “What, no hello?”

“This is why caller ID exists. Is something wrong? I didn't expect to hear from you until tonight at the earliest.”

Peter had too much self-control (and self-respect) to take an audible fortifying breath, but he certainly wished he could before he barreled straight into it. “All those suits you wear for the red carpet, do you actually own any of them? Or are they just on loan from the designers?”

“I think I can dig at least one decent suit out of my closet,” Chris said slowly, sounding cautiously amused. “Do I get to ask why?”

“I have to attend a function, and I need a plus-one.”

There was a slight pause. “Why, Peter, are you asking me out on a date?”

Peter thought about the day before, about all the ways that Chris had written Peter into his life, onto his skin, when he wasn’t even there, and didn’t permit himself a second of hesitation before he answered, “Yes.”

***

It was ridiculous, of course. Everything about the situation was ridiculous. The Itos’ party had still been three weeks away when Peter had asked Chris to accompany him, and he’d had every expectation that they would see each other again before the party. Several times, at least. As many times as he could manufacture even the flimsiest excuse for, and then by the time the party came around, they would be comfortable around each other again and it would seem entirely normal, and he would spend the entire evening in control and at ease.

What he’d forgotten to take into account was the fact he’d never bothered to have a personal life before, and had structured his work life accordingly. It had always been the perfect excuse to avoid entanglements before, but now that he wanted one? It was proving practically impossible. He’d never been so aware of how often he worked late, and trying to find a workable alternative had him literally pulling at his hair in frustration. The fact that it was exactly this behavior that had seen him available to work on New Year’s Eve and thus put him back into Chris’s orbit in the first place was an irony not lost on him.

The end result, between his apparent inability to ever leave the office and Chris’s own irregularly timed obligations, was this: They hadn’t seen each other in person at all since the day Peter fell back into Chris’s arms and his bed, and while they’d talked on the phone with what anyone else in Peter’s life would have found to be shocking frequency, Peter was sitting in a town car wearing a tux and feeling… nervous. It was not an emotion he felt very often these days, and he found it deeply irritating.

The driver paused at Chris’s gate to get buzzed in, and Peter checked his cuffs one more time. He’d just managed to convince himself he felt settled when the driver opened the door and Chris slid into the back seat.

Peter’s breath caught.

He’d seen Chris in a suit before, of course; he hadn’t referenced those red carpet pictures in any kind of hypothetical way. Laura insisted on leaving magazines with award show photo spreads on his desk. She’d gotten no fewer than five copies of the issue of _Rolling Stone_ with Chris on the cover and arranged them in a fan. (Talia had nearly seen those, and Laura had appeared genuinely contrite when he threatened to throttle her.)

The pictures didn’t do him justice.

Slim-fit tuxedo pants with the classic stripe down the side emphasized the length of his legs. The jacket was in some sort of subtly patterned fabric that suggested swaths of rhinestones and glitz without actually being anything so crass, and fit across his shoulders to perfection with just the right amount of taper to his waist. And the shirt. Snowy white, except for a stripe of black down the edge of the button placket that somehow saved Chris’s lack of tie from looking rude. It was all Peter could do not to lean over and suck a mark onto Chris’s exposed throat.

Asking Chris to a work party might have been a mistake. Peter was feeling the furthest thing from professional right now.

He finally managed to quit ogling and looked up at Chris’s face, expecting to find him grinning back at such a blatant display, but instead Chris looked oddly reserved. Almost… worried?

“Is this all right?” Chris asked. “If it’s not formal enough, I can run in and change. I asked Allison and she said it was fine, but…”

The driver got back in the front seat and started the car. Peter slid his hand over to cover Chris’s.

“It’s perfect.” With Chris to concentrate on, Peter’s own nervousness vanished. “What’s wrong? You’ve done hundreds of events. Thousands, maybe. Tonight will be easy by comparison. They’re just lawyers.”

Chris swallowed. “I just… I realized while I was getting dressed that these are all _normal_ people, not industry people. I don’t think I’ve been to a non-industry-related event in over a decade, and then it was for Argent Arms and I didn’t give a fuck what any of those people thought about me.”

Peter gave Chris’s hand a slight squeeze, knowing how much he’d hated having anything to do with his father’s business. “Why would you give a fuck about what any of the people tonight think about you?”

Chris shot him an incredulous look. “Because what they think about _you_ matters, and I don’t want to embarrass you by accident. This is your life, Peter. Your real life.”

Peter turned so he could study Chris seriously. “Would you worry about bringing me to a function with you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I fail to see what the issue is. You’re a grown adult, Christopher, and I know full well you don’t live the kind of rock-and-roll lifestyle that would lead to you swinging from the Itos’ ballroom chandelier.” He grinned toothily. “After all, you told me so yourself.”

Chris flushed at the memory of just what they’d been discussing at the time, and relaxed back into the seat.

Peter leaned over and pulled him into a kiss (a far gentler kiss than he wanted to, really, but he promised himself there would be time for that later), and then pulled back just enough to smile. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

Chris kissed him one more time before he replied. “Thank you for asking me.”

***

Chris was, of course, utterly charming. He always had been; Peter, watching him work his wiles on the stuffy octogenarian wife of one of Talia’s rivals who refused to retire, was mystified as to why he’d ever doubted that about himself.

“Peter, there you are!” Talia said from behind him, and he turned with a polite smile.

“Where else would I be?”

She slipped her hand around his elbow, oh so politely preventing any escape he might attempt. “Alone? Laura told me you’d insisted on finding your own date,” she said doubtfully.

“No, not alone,” he replied, and leaned back into the warmth of Chris’s hand when it came to rest on his lower back. “You remember Christopher, don’t you, Talia?”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “Yes, of course. It’s been so long. I had no idea the two of you were still in touch.”

“We just recently reconnected,” Chris said from over Peter’s shoulder, and Peter wasn’t sure what Chris’s smile looked like when he said it, but it made Talia take a step back.

“Well. It’s lovely to see you again,” she said, and then saw someone she urgently had to speak to across the room.

Chris folded his arms around Peter from behind and laughed into the side of his neck.

Peter patted his hand. “I knew bringing you was the right decision. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

They ran into Laura at the bar, and she did such a classic double take Peter was almost sorry she hadn’t been served yet. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

“She doesn’t think you’re real,” Peter said conversationally.

Chris held out his hand. “Chris Argent. Pleasure to meet you.”

Laura shook it on autopilot. “Laura Hale,” she said faintly.

Peter bumped Chris’s shoulder with his own. “Stop torturing my assistant, Christopher. I’ve put far too much effort into training her.”

That snapped Laura out of her daze, and her eyes narrowed in much the same manner as her mother’s. “What you mean is I control your schedule and therefore your entire life, and you need to stay on my good side.”

“Ah, now I understand,” Chris said. “This is the real reason we could never find a time to get together before tonight. I was talking to the wrong Hale.”

Laura beamed at him. “You can stay.”

Peter would have liked to say he didn’t feel relieved at that sign of approval from Laura, but he would have been lying.

Laura accepted her drinks from the bartender and turned, presumably to make her way back to shepherding the head of accounting around, but not before she leaned close and whispered in Peter’s ear, “You’re smiling again.”

He didn’t try to stop. It would have been fruitless anyway.

***

Afterward, standing under the portico waiting for the car to pull around, Peter slipped his hand around the small of Chris’s back and leaned in. “Come home with me?” he asked in a tone that was practically a purr, because he knew exactly what it had always done to Chris and he wasn’t above cheating to get what he wanted.

Chris simply turned his head to meet Peter’s and kissed him like it was still natural, like they’d never stopped, like Peter hadn’t walked away from him twenty years ago, just as the car arrived. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The ride back to Peter’s apartment building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Peter spent most of it watching the play of the passing streetlights over Chris’s face, so familiar and so different as light caught and glinted in the gray of his beard.

And that beard. Peter wanted to stroke it, to feel it on his neck. Young and clean-shaven Chris had lived in Peter’s memory for so long this should probably have been more disorienting, but Chris had aged so, so well.

Chris, for his part, seemed content enough with the silence, particularly when he reached out for Peter’s hand and he immediately slotted their fingers together. Chris shot him a tired smile, unbuttoned another button on his shirt, and went back to watching the city through the window.

Peter’s introspection broke, though, when they finally made it into the elevator of his building. He pressed the button for his floor and then turned to eye Chris as the doors closed. Chris lounged back against the wall, seemingly unconcerned, but then the corner of his mouth twitched up and he tilted his head back ever so slightly, and, oh, he knew exactly what the sight of his neck had been doing to Peter all night. Peter growled as he moved to box Chris in, and Chris’s answering laugh turned a little breathless as Peter’s mouth unerringly found the sensitive spot under his ear.

The doors opened onto Peter’s floor before he could get any further, which was probably for the best. They walked down the hall with an admirable amount of decorum, Peter felt, and he gestured Chris ahead of him into the apartment once he got the door unlocked.

“Oh, wow,” Chris said, stopping in the middle of the living room.

“Hmmm?” Peter set his keys on the console table next to the door and stayed there, leaning back against the door to take in the sight of Chris in his space, a thought he’d never allowed himself to entertain more than fleetingly. He looked good. Peter wanted to keep him.

Chris turned to take in more of the room and stopped when he was facing Peter. “It’s just…” He gestured around him at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering every bit of wall space in the living room. “It’s so perfectly you. You always did have more books with you than any one person should need. You finally have a place to put them all.”

Peter snorted. “Not quite. But most of them.”

Chris glanced pointedly down at the coffee table, the base of which was, indeed, more bookcases.

Peter let his shrug propel him away from the door. “What can I say? I like to have my reference books on hand.”

Chris raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him as Peter stalked toward him. “You’re telling me all these are reference books?”

“You’d be surprised by some of the things I’ve found cause to reference,” Peter said, reaching out to slide a hand around the back of Chris’s neck.

Chris’s smile softened from flirtatious challenge to a gentler fondness at that. “No, I wouldn’t. I remember how your mind works.”

And then Peter was surging against him, ruthlessly pushing past the choking sensation of finally being _seen_ and _known_ again. He channeled all that annoyingly overwhelming emotion into kissing Chris as deeply as possible instead, cupping his jaw with both hands and finally getting to touch that beard the way his fingers had been itching to all night.

Chris groaned into it and wrapped his arms around Peter in response, pulling him even closer. Something inside Peter settled into a feeling of deep satisfaction he’d honestly never expected to feel again. He lost track of time as they stood there in the middle of his living room, lit only by the soft glow of the table lamp next to the couch and the lights of the city outside the window. When they finally pulled apart, Chris didn’t look like he had any grasp on when or where he was either, though, and Peter grinned as he stepped back and took Chris’s hand.

“Bedroom’s this way,” he said, and Chris followed barely a step behind him.

***

Saturday dawned clear and bright, Peter noted from his bed, where he firmly remained, sprawled half over Chris’s chest with no intention of getting up any time soon. By the way Chris’s hand splayed possessively over his hip, it seemed like he agreed.

Normally Peter ignored Talia’s well-meaning admonitions to her underlings to actually take the day off after a command socialization event, since he'd certainly never gotten drunk nor gone home with anyone, and the realization that he genuinely had no intention to go into the office on the weekend was… novel. He let himself relax even further into the mattress, and Chris responded by pulling him even more firmly against him in his sleep.

Peter closed his eyes and smiled.

***

“Peter,” Chris murmured in his ear.

“Mmmmm.”

“Peter, you have to wake up now. I don’t know how to use your coffee maker.”

The snort of laughter that startled out of him woke him all the way up, and he opened his eyes to find Chris kneeling over him on the bed. “Is that the only reason?”

“No,” Chris said, leaning down to kiss him briefly, “but it’s the most urgent one at the moment. You know what I’m like without caffeine in the morning.”

“Yes, yes, fine, I will caffeinate you.” Peter pushed himself up to sitting and then accepted Chris’s hand in tugging him the rest of the way out of the bed. He paused to find a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt, noting that Chris had already rummaged around enough to find a pair of Peter’s exercise shorts and, amusingly, a UCLA shirt for himself. He plucked at it gently on his way into the kitchen. “Reliving our college days?”

“It seemed fitting,” Chris said.

Peter inclined his head in agreement and busied himself making cappuccinos before he could slip into thinking too much about the last year and a half he’d spent there without Chris. His academic record at graduation had been impressive, at least.

He left Chris sighing happily over his coffee at the breakfast bar while he made his way to the apartment door to retrieve his newspaper.

“Really?” Chris asked.

Peter settled himself on the couch with his coffee and fished a pen out of the side table. “Weekends only. I do the crossword.”

Chris smiled. “Of course,” he said, and moved to join Peter on the couch, poking through the other discarded sections of the paper before settling on the sports section. Being irritated by the results there didn’t take long, though, and soon he was up perusing Peter’s shelves for something more interesting. He grinned when he found the complete collection of Spenser mysteries and promptly pulled out the first one. Peter forced himself to concentrate on his crossword puzzle and not read anything into the fact there were forty books in that series and Chris was purposefully starting at the beginning.

It turned out awkwardly punny clues about slightly outdated pop culture were a lot more tolerable when there was someone else there to bitch about them to. Especially if that person was stretched out across the couch with his feet in your lap, reading hilariously detailed descriptions of the height of 1970s men’s fashion out loud. Who would have guessed?

***

Peter had never been so annoyed about the need to return to work on a Monday in his entire adult life, undoubtedly because his weekends rarely had much in them to differentiate them from the weekdays.

His temper was not improved by the tabloid sitting in the middle of his desk. It had been helpfully opened to a page featuring a photo of Chris reaching for the door of a town car wearing his suit from Friday night, shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jacket slung over his shoulder. _Walk of shame or new formal-casual menswear trendsetter?_ the caption asked. _Chris Argent spotted the morning after. The question is, the morning after what? Is Argent finally living up to his bad-boy looks?_

Peter stabbed the intercom button. “What,” he demanded through clenched teeth, “is this?”

Laura slipped into his office so quickly she must have been waiting just outside the door. “I wanted you to have some warning. Does someone moderately famous live in your building?”

He looked at her, exasperated. “I don’t know. Why would I bother to keep track of that? It’s LA. Literally anyone I bump into on the street could be mildly famous for one reason or another.”

“It looks like a lucky paparazzi shot to me, especially since there’s just the one, so I don’t think they followed you there or were waiting specifically for him, but that’ll probably change now.”

He glared down at the tabloid and drummed his fingers on his desk, mentally reviewing the work he’d had lined up for the day.

“Are there any files I need here?”

She manifested a small stack from apparently thin air without a word.

He stuffed the files and the tabloid into his bag. “I’m taking the day. If anyone calls, tell them to be grateful they’re not actually talking to me. Including your mother.”

“Will do.” She touched his arm as he slung his satchel back over his head and he paused. “That photo was from Sunday, though.” She tried a small smile. “Did you at least have a good weekend? Before this?”

Shaking off her hand, he gave a short, sharp nod before resuming his furious stride through the door. “I did. That’s what makes it worse.”

***

He was already halfway to Chris’s house before he thought he should have called. Then he thought he should have rented a car so his wouldn’t be recognized. And then he thought, savagely, that he didn’t give a flying fuck and pushed his speed as high as he could without begging to be pulled over, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt.

He stabbed the buzzer outside Chris’s gate and reminded himself that it wasn’t Chris he was angry at just in time.

“Yes?”

“Chris, it’s me.”

“Peter? Is everything okay? Why aren’t you at work?”

“Just… let me in, okay?”

The gate immediately started rolling open in answer, and Peter pulled through, flexing his fingers as he tried to work the ache out of his knuckles. Chris was waiting for him in the open doorway. Peter grabbed his bag and stalked toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

“This,” Peter snarled, pulling the tabloid out and practically flinging it across the kitchen counter.

“Oh, that.” Chris glanced at it briefly and then turned away. “Coffee?”

“I… what?”

“Do you want coffee? I was just making some.”

Peter took a deep breath and looked at him carefully. “Fine, yes, I would take some coffee. Does this really not bother you?”

Chris shrugged. “Of course it bothers me. But it’s my life, so I had to learn how to ignore it.” He finished messing with the coffee maker and turned to lean on the counter, arms crossed as he looked at Peter seriously. “I think the real question is how much does it bother _you_.”

Peter’s frowned at Chris’s posture, the way he seemed to be distancing himself. “Why?”

“Do you remember what you said, about why you walked away the first time? That you couldn’t share me?” He gestured to the tabloid. “That comes with the territory, and it’s not going to change. You said you wanted this, wanted me, this time, but if you can’t handle it, now that you see what it’s really like, just tell me, Peter. Don’t give me some bullshit excuse about it being for my own good again.”

Peter straightened up, affronted. “That’s not…!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not why I’m here. I wanted to make sure you were okay. That this wasn’t causing you any trouble. I know this doesn’t link you to me or anything, but I never even thought… There might be pictures from the party. We didn’t exactly try to hide who you were.”

Chris looked at him strangely. “Peter. I wasn’t ashamed to be there with you, and I didn’t get back into this with you with the intention of hiding it. If I wanted to be closeted, which, I might add, I have never been, I wouldn’t have agreed to go.”

Peter was feeling wrong-footed by this entire conversation, and he didn’t like it. The coffee maker beeped behind Chris and he turned away to pull a couple of mugs out of a cabinet. Peter took the moment’s reprieve to try to marshal his thoughts back into some sort of order.

Chris picked up both coffees and jerked his head toward the living room. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Peter shed his suit jacket and left it on the back of the kitchen barstool with his briefcase before he followed.

Chris had settled at one end of the couch already, coffees on the table in front of it. Peter picked his up and took a cautious sip. It was exactly the way he liked it, a fact that heartened him more than it probably should have.

“I did mean it,” he said. “I’m not mad at you, just the situation. It didn’t occur to me how commonplace this must be for you.”

Chris shot him an arch look. “And here I thought you’d kept up with my career.”

The look Peter returned was scathing. “Not _gossip fodder_.”

“Oh, but I’ve learned so many interesting things about myself from gossip sites over the years! Do you know how many illegitimate siblings Allison is supposed to have?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “They shouldn’t be allowed to do this. You have a right to a life.”

“And I have one. My life is genuinely not affected by the fact someone took a picture of me in evening wear in the middle of the day.” He grinned lazily. “Especially not when they misidentified the day it was left over from.”

Peter felt some of the tension seep out of his shoulders. “I will sue them into the ground, you know. Just say the word.”

“I will take that under advisement.” Chris settled back into the couch with his coffee and raised an eyebrow. “So now that you’ve determined I’m not in need of rescue or vengeance, do you have to rush back to work?”

Peter felt heat creeping up the back of his neck and concentrated on savoring his next slow sip. “No,” he admitted after he swallowed. “I didn’t think it would be safe for me to talk to clients today.”

Chris raised both eyebrows at that.

“I brought everything I needed for today with me.”

Chris smiled. “Good. Do you want to work in here or in the office?”

Peter blinked at that, but of course Chris had a home office. It wasn’t like they’d exactly taken the time for a grand tour of the house last time he’d been here. He thought for a minute about what he actually had to do and decided it didn’t matter.

“I don’t know. Where will you be?”

Chris leaned forward to collect Peter’s empty mug, and then kissed him while he was there. “I’ll be right here.”

Later, Peter reflected that Talia probably wasn’t going to be pleased at how productive he’d learned he could be outside the office, taking calls as needed from Laura in the middle of Chris’s sun-drenched living room with Chris’s feet shoved under his thigh as he did work of his own at the other end of the couch. He was actually done in time for dinner for once, which in this case meant he simply walked into the kitchen and made a salad while Chris dealt with everything else.

Dessert was entirely euphemistic and taken in the bedroom.

“Hey,” Chris said into Peter’s hair afterward, once they were settled under the covers. Peter could see the moon through the bedroom window. “Are you really okay with all this?”

“Yes,” Peter said firmly. He’d contemplated the alternative off and on throughout the afternoon and hadn’t liked it at all.

Chris relaxed under him, letting go of tension Peter hadn’t realized he was still holding, and he cursed himself for not noticing. “So does that mean you’ll come with me to this charity banquet I have to go to next month?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be red carpet,” Chris warned. “Guaranteed reporters and photographers. You’re going to be listed as ‘and guest’ at the very least.”

Peter shrugged and tightened his arm around Chris’s chest. “You said we weren’t hiding anything, so if you want me there, I’m there.”

“Good. The world deserves more pictures of you in a tux.”

Peter was pretty sure he fell asleep smiling.

***

The world did seem to appreciate pictures of Peter and Chris in tuxes. And while Peter was indeed officially listed in captions as “and guest,” it didn’t take the people of the internet long to figure out who he actually was. (It took them only slightly longer to learn he was the really boring kind of lawyer and the woman who answered his phone was not to be messed with. Laura was having the time of her life.)

Of course, the world also seemed to appreciate pictures of Peter and Chris in pretty much any other kind of attire. The day Chris found Peter’s motorcycle jacket in the back of his closet and asked if he still remembered how to ride was particularly memorable, as Allison happened to come home for a visit that afternoon and ended up putting a whole slew of photos on Instagram. (Peter kept the one of them both laughing on his desk.)

And Chris was right. After his initial irritation over the brazenness of the paparazzi, Peter found them very easy to ignore. If they wanted a picture of him leaving his apartment’s parking garage to go to work, fine. His day-to-day life looked extraordinarily dull from the outside, and he reveled in taking it to the extreme. He even wore his most boring ties every day for two weeks. His resting bitch face became a work of art.

Still, on nights or weekends when they planned to actually go out, more often than not it just seemed easier to end up back at Chris’s house, where neighborhood security kept the photographers to a minimum and the landscaping meant they didn’t have to feel like they were on display every minute they were outside. More and more of Peter’s suits were migrating into Chris’s closet. Their dry cleaning was all getting sent out at the same time. The extra power cord for his laptop now lived permanently in Chris’s office.

The only things missing, really, were his books, but that was a small thing by comparison. He could hardly complain. Other than that, life was pretty perfect.

***

The night he got back from a short out-of-town business trip and automatically gave the cab Chris’s address as “home,” it didn’t even strike him as odd until he was standing on the front walk with his suitcase in one hand, keys in the other.

He had keys to Chris’s house. He didn’t even remember when that had happened.

Chris opened the front door, warm, inviting light from inside framing him as he leaned against the doorframe. “You’re back! I could have come to get you.”

Peter rolled his eyes at the thought of Chris Argent, rock star, circling in the airport arrivals line. “Please,” he said as he stepped over the threshold and gave Chris a kiss, “I’m expensing that cab ride to my client. He deserves it.”

Chris took Peter’s suitcase from him and herded him the rest of the way into the house. “So, are you hungry?”

Peter eyed him. Chris was hovering. It was weird. “Not really. I ate just before my flight.”

“Good, good. Okay. So. I have something to show you.” He took Peter’s hand, led him down the hall, paused to stow Peter’s suitcase in the bedroom, and then pulled him into the office…

…which now featured empty floor-to-ceiling bookcases on every wall but the one occupied by the desk.

Peter stopped in the middle of the room and turned slowly on his heel to take it all in. “Where did you put all your things?”

Chris shrugged. “There really wasn’t all that much in here. I moved most of the stuff on the walls to the music room, got rid of a bunch of crap that I’d been needing to sort through for a few years anyway, reorganized the desk. If these aren’t enough, we can put more books in the living room, too. My decorator was way too into minimalism in there anyway.”

Peter reached out, got a good handful of Chris’s t-shirt, and yanked him in for an absolutely searing kiss, all teeth and tongue and hands in his hair.

Chris was grinning when they broke apart to finally breathe again. “So you like it?”

“Marry me,” Peter said.

Chris just blinked at him, startled.

“I’m serious. Marry me.”

“Because I got you bookshelves?”

“Because that cab driver just brought me here because I told him this was home without a second thought. Because I secretly hate all the nights when I go back to my apartment alone. Because you have me tattooed all over you, and because I’ve been missing you for twenty years and I’m tired of it and I never want to do that again… _and_ because you got me bookshelves.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. I’ll marry you. When do you want to move all your books in?”

Peter drew him in to kiss him again. “I’m sure Laura can find some company willing to do it this weekend.” Slowly, he started backing Chris toward the hall. “Now come help me wash off the smell of plane.”

“I can do that.”

***

While it would have been no problem to meet in front of a judge and be done with it (Peter knew people, after all), Talia would never have forgiven him. Nor Allison, apparently, judging by the stack of bridal magazines she’d just thunked down on Laura’s desk with an unfairly dimpled grin.

“Why are you here?” he asked. Not that he minded, he just genuinely didn’t know.

“You and Dad can’t be trusted,” she said airily, like things had been settled without his knowledge, always a worrisome prospect. “Laura and I have it covered.”

“Have what covered, exactly?”

“Everything,” Laura said firmly, steering him back into his office. “Don’t worry, Derek is helping, too. It won’t get too girly.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose at that. “You got him to leave his studio before his final portfolio is due?” It was Derek’s final semester of his MFA; Peter had assumed no one would even be able to confirm he was still alive until late April at the earliest.

“Yes. This is important. Let us handle it.”

Peter knew a losing battle when he saw it. “Fine.”

“You only have one job.”

“Show up, I presume?”

“Write vows.”

***

Everything came together surprisingly smoothly. (Laura took offense at that. “I beg your pardon? There is nothing surprising about it. I know what I’m doing.”) A strategically small venue was chosen; invitations were sent out, on fairly short notice, but only to friends and relatives they actually wanted there, no clients or passing professional acquaintances included; an afternoon was taken off for ring shopping and sizing; suits they already owned were deemed acceptable, but new ties and pocket squares were acquired by Derek and kept hidden from them until the day.

Peter and Chris had been using the time they were told they weren’t needed to finish officially moving Peter into Chris’s house. His living room got essentially transported wholesale and recreated in Chris’s former office.

“Much better,” Chris said with satisfaction once the last of the books was properly shelved. Peter pushed him down onto the couch in response, and they didn’t have dinner that night until quite late.

A week before the wedding, Laura knocked on the glass of his door and ducked her head in. “Do you need any help with your vows?” she asked for probably the tenth time.

Peter didn’t even look up from his email. “No.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to look them over? You always have me look over your contracts, and what is this but another kind of contract, right?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Like, they’re done? Completely done? You’re not just procrastinating.”

“All done.”

“Ooookay…”

“Go away, niece. Stop bothering me. You have real work to be doing.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Peter grinned at the picture of Chris on his desk and kept working. He had to clear his schedule for their honeymoon, after all.

***

The day of the wedding was bright and perfect, with ideal mid-spring temperatures that made summer seem like a bad idea. They managed a leisurely breakfast, barefoot in t-shirts and jeans on the back deck by the pool, before Allison and Laura descended.

“We could drive there ourselves, you know,” Chris tried one last time, but Allison just snorted.

“And have your bandmates find your car before the reception was over? No. I know them. We’re not taking that chance.”

Chris conceded the point and obediently went to find some shoes.

“Nervous?” Laura asked, nudging Peter with her shoulder as they waited in the hall.

“No,” Peter said. Honestly, he’d never felt so calm in his life.

He took Chris’s hand on the way to the car and held it all the way to the venue. A good thing, too, because they were separated as soon as they arrived.

“You have to get ready! No peeking!” Laura insisted.

“Laura, we already live together,” Peter pointed out.

“I don’t care. We’re doing this my way.” She shoved him into the room that had been set aside for him to change in. “Now get dressed.”

Derek arrived a few minutes later with his new tie and pocket square, in a blue so lustrous it practically glowed. “And cufflinks,” he added. “Mom says they were Grandpa’s.”

Peter swallowed and held out his wrists one at a time for Derek to put them on. Their wedding photographer, someone Chris knew and liked from previous band-related photo shoots, slipped unobtrusively into the room and took a few shots without saying a word.

“Thank you for helping with this,” Peter said quietly. “I’m not sure if I said it before. I know you haven’t had a lot of time lately.”

Derek ducked his head and fiddled with the second cufflink unnecessarily. “It’s no problem. I was happy to help. It, um.” Peter watched in fascination as his ears slowly turned red. “It got Mom off my back about, you know, girls.”

“Nephew,” Peter said with growing surety and delight, “do you mean to tell me you actually brought a date?”

Derek looked away and gave a tiny nod. Peter pulled him into a hug, which Derek tolerated stiffly.

“I look forward to meeting him.”

Derek looked at him with wide eyes, but was saved from having to say anything else by Laura coming in just then with boutonnieres.

“Okay, break it up, no getting either of you wrinkled,” she said briskly, and then brandished two deadly looking pearl-headed pins. Peter and Derek sprang back quickly, and she affixed the delicate orchids to their lapels with frightening efficiency. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

Peter looked at his watch and frowned. “It’s not time yet.”

“Nope. We just have one last thing to do.” She led him to the other side of the building, where he’d seen Allison taking Chris earlier.

Allison was waiting in the hall with her hand on the doorknob to what Peter assumed was Chris’s dressing room. Peter looked a question at her, and she smiled. “I know you didn’t really want all this, you know, pageantry and stuff, and I figured you and Dad had to live so much of your relationship in public anyway, it’d be nice to do your first looks in private. It’s a thing a lot of people are doing now, apparently.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed to clear it. “Oh. Thank you.”

Then she pushed open the door, and all he saw was Chris.

“Hi,” Chris said.

Peter was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him. “Hi.”

He had no idea why this should be affecting him so much. As he’d said earlier, they lived together now. They saw each other every day. They even saw each other in suits on a regular basis. But this. This was Chris dressed up to _marry him_. By the telltale shine in Chris’s eyes, he was having a similar reaction.

Peter crossed the room until he was close enough to run a gentle finger down Chris’s tie. “Silver. Of course. Derek just couldn’t resist, could he?”

“Allison swore it looked good.”

“Oh, it does. Believe me.” Peter noticed his hand was shaking and stilled it by cupping Chris’s jaw.

From the corner, the photographer’s shutter clicked quietly.

***

Afterward, Peter remembered very little of the wedding ceremony itself. Intellectually, he knew they’d each walked down the side aisles between the chairs to meet in the middle, and the officiant had said many inspiring words about matrimony, (all of which Peter and Chris had approved ahead of time so he really had no need to pay attention to them), and there was a tasteful musical piece, and a reading.

But all he really remembered was holding Chris’s gaze through all of it; feeling Chris’s fingers trembling slightly, but still holding firm as he slipped the ring onto Peter’s finger; and drawing a shuddering breath to say, “I know my reputation as the master of stipulated contracts, so I'm sure these vows will come as a surprise to some, but the truth is very simple. No caveats, no clauses. I, Peter Hale, will love you, Christopher Argent, until the day I die.” And then he slipped the shining gold band over the knuckles of Chris’s finger and kissed him to seal the deal.

***

Later, at the reception, when Talia came up to get a piece of cake, she tilted her head at him curiously. “I admit I was surprised to hear that vow from you, of all people. You seemed very sure.”

Peter looked over at Chris, who was engrossed in explaining the different flavors of cake to his drummer’s tiny daughter. “Well, I’ve already loved him for twenty years. I think I’ve established sufficient precedent.”

***

[ **Gifset from Tumblr user silverbulletstomyheart:** Four gifs of Chris Argent and Peter Hale seated in front of a webcam. Argent is wearing a worn-looking t-shirt with a washed out logo and sleeves that seem slightly too short, showing his tattoo sleeves clearly. Hale is wearing a more staid plain v-neck, a pair of reading glasses hooked over the collar.

 **First gif:** Argent squints at the screen.

 **Second gif:** Argent reaches over to Hale and unhooks the glasses from his shirt.

 **Third gif:** Argent puts on the reading glasses.

 **Fourth gif:** Argent begins speaking, presumably answering the question he can now read, while Hale rolls his eyes.]

 **Tags:** #did y’all see this interview about their charity? #they’re so married #real life husband goals #hargent

**Author's Note:**

> Details that I couldn't find a way to fit into the story: Chris's new tattoos include two new dates for the list on his ribs (New Year's, as previously promised, and their wedding day), plus "I will love you until the day I die" being written in calligraphic script up the inside of his left forearm by a fountain pen that appears to have been dipped in blood, because Peter loves a good "deal with the devil" lawyer joke.


End file.
